When Someone Stops Loving You
by purplepagoda
Summary: Set shortly after the NCIS:LA episode with current day Mac, and Harm. Mac reflects about her inability to let a certain fly-boy go over a meal with an old friend. Will Mac and Harm finally be able to work things out? Do old habits dies hard? Will their flames keep burning?
1. I May Hate Myself In The Morning

He sits at a corner booth, waiting on his "work-wife" to arrive. It is unusual for her to be running even a moment late. He glances at his watch, and reminds himself that even she is allowed to be human. It is, after all five thirty in the morning. He sips his coffee, and glances at the newspaper in front of him. He hears familiar footsteps approaching, and he looks up. Sarah slides into the booth across the table from him. He glances at his watch.

"You are three minutes late. I was prepared to send out a search party."

She takes his cup of coffee. Her face puckers, "What did you put in this?"

"A lot of cream," he reveals.

She rolls her eyes.

"What has your panties in a twist?"

She furrows his brow. She shifts her glance, and motions for a waitress. She orders coffee, and shoots him a look.

"Have I done something to offend you?"

"Aside from my last assignment?"

He nods, "I apologize. I thought that you knew."

"That you were sending me into the snake pit?"

"I'm not sure that is how I would refer to it," he argues.

"Clayton, don't!"

"Is that why you are so up in arms?"

She starts to settle into her seat. She offers a heavy sigh, "I wish."

"What seems to be the problem?"

"Me. I am the problem."

"In what way?"

"That I am incorrigible."

"I would classify you as persistent," he argues semantics.

"Thank you for the vote of confidence."

"Why were you running late? Overslept?"

"There wasn't much sleeping," she mutters under her breath.

He shakes his head, "No! You vowed that you wouldn't go down that road again. You promised yourself, and every person that has ever met you that you wouldn't light that fire again. Remember how badly you got burnt last time? Tell me I am wrong."

"He is never going to change. He can't commit to anything but the Navy. That was the gist of our conversation last night."

"And?"

"I am late because I am doing the walk of shame."

"Aren't you a little too old to be doing the walk of shame?"

"Really?! You know that I could kill you right now, with nothing more than this coffee stirrer."

"I have no doubt."

"It doesn't matter. He got called for duty at oh three hundred this morning. I guess that some things never change."

"Did you think that they would?"

"No, but that doesn't stop me from hoping."

"So what is your next move?"

"There is no next move. He will be to Bora Bora by morning, and I will be a fleeting thought. As per usual. Even when in a relationship with him I couldn't keep his attention."

"Not unless you had him at attention?"

She throws a wadded up napkin at him.

"I'm sorry. That was uncalled for. You are a highly capable individual. What do you see in him?"

"My squandered youth? I don't know," she shrugs.

"What are you going to do if he calls from Bora Bora, or wherever he actually is?"

"Ghost him," she responds without hesitation.

"It is the one perk of working for the state department."

"Are we going to order, or talk about my poor decision making?"

"I already ordered," he admits.

"Have you considered that I might want something different?"

"I think that you have just proven that you are quite the creature of habit."

"I hate you."

"You don't mean that. You are just angry with yourself."

"What is wrong with me? He never changes. The end result never changes. He flies away, and I'm left standing there with my heart in my hands."

"Because he represents all of the things that you thought that you wanted. You are better off without him. You don't need him, or anyone else to make you whole."

She sips her coffee. "This is why I am single."

"You are single because you are terrified of commitment. Your longest relationship is with the marine corp. You can't have the one that you want, so you wallow in your own misery. You know if you continue to bleed on people that didn't hurt you I don't foresee that you are ever going to heal."

"You are saying that I have to face facts? I need to accept that he is never going to change, and lick my wounds?"

He shakes his head, "I don't even think that it is about him."

She furrows her brow, "Excuse me?"

"I have known you a long time, and it has never actually been about him."

"Are you in the same conversation that I am?"

"It is more about you than it is Rabb," he clarifies.

"Are you referring to my expectations of him?"

He shakes his head, "No. It is way beyond the surface Sarah. It is about your pathology."

Her face contorts as she attempts to decipher what he means. "My pathology?"

"At an early age the person that you loved most walked away from you. You never stopped loving her just because she left."

"That is totally ludicrous."

"Is it? Have you ever sat and contemplating why you can't seem to let him go?"

"You know that I have wasted years of my life contemplating Harmon Rabb."

"Was your mother emotionally available to you?"

"You know the answer to that, Clay."

"Then I think you have the answer to why you can't let him go. You are repeating what you know."

"You can stop psychoanalyzing me anytime."

He nods, "Noted."


	2. What Do You Say

3 Months Later—

Mac exits the elevator. She tucks her phone into her bag, and shifts her eyes upwards. She furrows her brow, finding no one in the reception area. She shrugs, and heads towards the door. Her badge access turns red. The door will not open. She has been out of town on business for a week, but she can't see to understand why her card reader will not work. She shrugs, and tries the biometric scanner. Another failed attempt at entering. She hears her phone ding.

She pulls the device out of its resting place, and finds an email alert. She reads the email alert in confusion. Her suspicion grows. She dials her superior, who uncharacteristically answers on the first ring.

"Where is everyone? What is this email about the office being closed?"

"The office is closed until Wednesday."

"There is no reason listed in the email."

"The truth of the matter is that the office is being deep cleaned," he explains.

"Bed bugs?" She takes a stab in the dark.

"There was a viral outbreak."

"Are you talking about biological terrorism?"

"No. Sarah someone unknowingly infected eighty percent of the staff with a GI virus."

"You're kidding, right?"

"Unfortunately, no. How long have you been out of town?"

"A week, why?"

"The event occurred approximately eight days ago. Please go home. We are encouraging everyone to work from home if they can, but many staff members are still suffering the effects."

"We are an intelligence agency. Are you honestly telling me that we have been crippled by a GI virus?"

"Our epidemiologists have correctly predicted up to seven days of intractable nausea, vomiting, and diarrhea. It's highly contagious. It has compromised three missions thus far."

"Am I being punk'd?"

"Have you been feeling ill?"

"Not that I am aware of."

"You are likely outside of the incubation period. The deep cleaning is still ongoing, so you will have to work from somewhere other than the office," he hangs up.

* * *

When the office finally re-opens she finds her co-workers groaning as she exits the elevator. She approaches the reception area.

"For such a professional group of individuals I hear a lot of sighing, and groaning."

"A return to duty protocol has been announced."

Mac nods, "I see. I'm free to head to my office, correct?"

She shakes her head, "In fact no one is."

"I am not infected with whatever mutant virus the others have experienced."

"Nor am I. As an agency that is charged with protecting the safety of our nation a new mandate has been issued. Everyone must complete a full physical by end of business today. It seems that this fluke virus has made the powers that be paranoid. A decision has been made that everyone must have a full blood panel completed," she offers a sheet of paper, "Here is the list of labs that must be completed. Many have voiced that it is a violation of their rights. The company has responded that it is a matter of national security, and that a random physical, drug test, etcetera prevents a breach of that security."

"Was security breached?"

"It was not, but there as a potential for a breach."

Sarah furrows her brows, "In what way, Allison?"

"They had to hire a private contractor to deep clean the entire area. Of course they believe that it was simply an office building, but the utmost security standards were adhered to. Failure to complete your physical by end of business today will result in immediate termination."

"How many people have called their attorneys?"

"The general consensus is that the State Department has the right to basic health information as outlined in its fitness for duty standards. Do you have an objection to participating in a physical?"

"Not particularly, I just have actual work to do."

"The quicker that you complete the physical the quicker you return to work."

"Aye," she nods.

Hours later she is waiting in an exam room for a nurse to return with a copy of her completed physical, as well as the completed lab documents. A perky twenty something nurse enters the room. She lends Mac a thousand watt smile.

"Ma'am this is your copy of all of your documents. All of your labs were within normal limits other than your TiBC/ Ferritin. Essentially we determined that you have a very minor case of iron deficient anemia. Doctor Wise suggests an iron supplement."

"Duly noted," she extends her hand for the packet of paperwork.

"That is the copy of documents for your employer."

"So I'm good to go?"

"Do you remember how we discussed that the physician wanted to do some additional testing that would not be submitted to your employer simply because it has been quite a while since you were last seen?"

"I recall."

The nurse offers a second manila folder. "This is your copy of all of the results. There are also follow up instructions."

Mac furrows her brow, "Follow up instructions? Reminding me to take iron?"

"A little more than that. Aside from the basic lab panel, toxicology, and infectious disease testing that your employer requested we ran a thyroid panel, and a hemoglobin A1C."

Mac cuts her off, "Why is this relevant? Is there something abnormal with one of those?"

She shakes her head, "Ma'am I'm not quite finished. All of those lab tests were within normal limits."

"But?"

"We have standards of care here at the practice," the nurse with a badge reading, 'Kate', explains.

"That seems reasonable," she comments, hoping that it will cut short the endless explanation.


	3. She Never Cried In Front of Me

"One example is that we obtain a urine pregnancy on any female who has not had a hysterectomy, and is under the age of fifty five."

"I really appreciate you telling me about your standards of practice, but I am in a hurry to return to work."

"Ma'am I am not telling you this to waste your time. I am not offering this explanation to toot our own horn, or even explain how our practice works. I am fully aware that at the end of the day you have more important places to be. Doctor Wise has referred you to a specialist. I wanted to give you some idea of how he reached that decision."

Mac shakes her head, "I still don't understand."

"Have you been feeling under the weather lately?"

"Please be direct with me," Mac insists.

Kate slides the papers out of the manila folder. Attached to one of the lab results is a business card. She hands the information to Mac.

"According to your labs it would seem that you are pregnant."

She shakes her head, and purses her lips. "This is a really busy practice. It is obvious to me that you have inadvertently mixed up my specimen with someone else's."

"I understand your concern. Based on the result the physician added a lab, as we had enough blood left to run the sample. The second page is a qualitative number from the add-on lab that we ran from a sample of your blood."

"That is simply not possible. For a laundry list of reasons, that is not possible."

"I can understand that you are in shock."

"I am not in shock. It simply cannot be correct. I am just stating a fact."

"You have been seeing Doctor Wise for nearly fifteen years now, correct?"

"Yes," she nods in confirmation.

The nurse offers her a business card. "He personally called this specialist. You have an appointment with him in an hour. It is easy enough to conclusively confirm or deny, ma'am."

* * *

_Six weeks earlier—_

_Mac awakens drenched in sweat. She rolls over, and the alarm clock reveals that it is 0224. She inwardly groans, and climbs out of bed to attain a drink of water. She finds herself riding a wave of vomit promptly to her toilet bowl. Eventually she is able to compose herself. She obsessively attends to her oral care needs. She opens her bathroom vanity, and removes a thermometer. It reads 102.1, despite the fact that she has just had a cool drink of water. She feels like crap, on a cracker. She pops an aspirin, and climbs back into bed. _

_ Her internal alarm clock goes off, and she can hear the coffee percolating from the other room. She finds her blankets in a pile on the floor. She reaches for the thermometer that lies on her bedside table. Her temperature is still elevated. She considers what she has eaten in the past twenty four hours. She chalks her symptoms up to what she concludes to be 'bad lettuce'. _

* * *

As she sits in a paper gown in a cold exam room she begins to doubt herself. She exhales, and reminds her self that it is beyond impossible. Starting with her age, followed by her lengthy history of infertility with no avail. Her tailspin is just revving up when there is a knock on the door. A seasoned technician enters the room. She asks Mac to confirm her name, and date of birth. She doesn't bat an eye when Mac states her birthday.

"You don't really think that their testing could be accurate, do you?" Mac furrows her brow, and puckers her lips.

"If you lie back we will find out very quickly," the seasoned technician responds directly.

She nods, in understanding. She relaxes, and submits the the exam. She stares at the ceiling tiles, and waits for the technician to announce that the testing is inaccurate, and that there must be some other explanation. The room is silent for several moments. Mac remains focused on the ceiling tile, having been in this very position more than once with each time ending in disappointment. A rhythmic noise interrupts the silence. Mac's glance shifts.

"It would appear that your lab results were in fact accurate," the technician points to the screen.

"Come again?"

"What you are hearing is a heartbeat, and not your own."

"I…"

As the technician moves the probe an image becomes very clear on the screen.

"Based on the look on your face I would surmise that this was unplanned?"

"This can't really be happening, can it? This is so totally beyond the realm of possibility."

"Do you have someone that can drive you home?"

"I think that I will be okay. I am in shock, but I think that I am still capable of driving."

"The doctor is going to throw a lot of information, and statistics at you. Especially given the situation."

"Of my beyond geriatric maternal age?"

The technician adjusts the screen, so Mac has a better view.

"Is this picture a little clearer?"

"Yes," she studies the image in utter disbelief.

"Can you see this outline?"

"I can, but I'm not really certain what it is that I am looking at," she admits defeat.

"I will change views," she shifts her probe.

The image suddenly becomes all too clear, "This is where you tell me that I am hallucinating, or that this is all a dream, right?"

"You are seeing very clearly."

"Double vision?"

"No ma'am. It appears that you are having twins."

* * *

Clayton glances at his watch, uncertain where Mac may be. Via text she has explained that she has to drop off paperwork prior to meeting him. He begins to wonder if something horrible has happened to her. He dials her number.

"Hello?"

"Where are you? You asked me to meet you for dinner, and you aren't here. You picked the time, and place. You were supposed to be here fifteen minutes ago. I am considering calling the National Guard.

"I am sitting in the parking lot."

"You just got here?"

"I have been here for twenty minutes."

"I am going to need more than, that, Sarah."

"I had a small panic attack when I pulled in," she minimizes the incident as the attempts to regulate her breathing.

"Since when do you, the pillar of stability, have panic attacks?"

"Can I just say that I get the distinct feeling that my track record of extreme punctuality has just drawn to an end?"


	4. I Don't Paint Myself Into Corners

He pays someone off for their to-go order, and finds Mac in the parking lot. He climbs into her passenger's seat.

"I commandeered someone's food. It appears to be a basic steak, or a salad. I'll leave the choice up to the lady."

"Steak."

He hands her the take out container, "Why are we sitting in your car preparing to eat, when there is a perfectly acceptable restaurant fifty feet away?"

"I'm sorry."

"Sarah? What the hell is going on? Was there something wrong with your physical?"

"Not wrong, per se."  
"Abnormal?"

"Highly abnormal," she confirms.

"As one of your closest friends, I would really appreciate if you would just spit it out. I am over here going through a million possibilities. I am thinking that you are dying."

"It is literally the opposite of that, though I suppose it could kill me."

"The opposite of dying? You are immortal?"

She rolls her eyes, "Yes. I am immortal. Can you hand me a napkin?"

"There are none," he admits.

"I think that there are a few in my glove box."

He opens the glove box, and retrieves a trio of napkins. He hands them to her. Underneath is a pile of black and white images.

"What is all of this in here?" He questions as he places his box on the dash.

"Have you ever had a farewell, which could be classified as a little too fond?"

"Sure. Who is having a baby? Why do you have someone's sonogram pictures in your glove box? Is this about a case? It seems kind of creepy to be surveilling someone's unborn child…" he tilts his head, "Or children. He stops as his eyes shift to the name on the top, and the date."

"You are correct in your conclusion. Twins."

"Are you trying to pull some kind of stunt? Sarah these have your name on them. Based on your history I would never foresee you pulling something like this. I guess that you have finally exacted your revenge for the frozen chicken incident of twenty seventeen."

She holds her take out container in silence. She doesn't move a muscle. His glance shifts to her. He can see that she is struggling to maintain normal breathing. He can see her jugular pulsating.

"Mac?!"

The silence surrounds them, and she finds herself temporarily caught in a cycle of dysfunctional thinking.

"These can't really be yours, can they?"

Silence envelopes again the entire car. This time she shifts in her seat, uncomfortably.

His eyes widen, "Sarah?"

"Yes," is all she can manage to squeak out.

"You're serious?" He queries.

She can't find appropriate words to answer him. The panic is written all over her face.

She is as pale as a ghost. "You're terrified?" He queries.

"I am, but the paleness is probably just the iron deficiency."

"How long have you known?"

"I did not have the slightest inclination. I had an episode of emesis several weeks ago. It was a single episode, and I had a fever. I concluded that it was foodborne illness. I feel like an idiot."

"Don't. This is nothing short of a miracle."

"I wish that it felt that way," the words tumble from her mouth before she can stop them. The guilt sprawls across her face in an instant.

He waits a beat, and allows himself to formulate the most supportive, and caring answer that he can.

"No one is telling you that you have to go through with it. I would assume that there is a pretty high level of risk involved with proceeding."

"For everyone involved," she confirms.

"Why don't you just walk me through what you are thinking right now?"

"I feel like an idiot."

"For not knowing?"

"For finding myself in this position. It is not as if I am a twenty something, anymore. What was I thinking climbing into bed with someone who has been who knows where, and done who knows what with them? I obviously wasn't thinking."

"I understand, and empathize with all of that."

"But?"

"You're here now. Unless you have a time machine that I don't know about, there is nothing you can do to change the past."

"What kind of cruel joke is this? I am geriatric. I am too old for this."

"You run at eight miles a day before most people even consider rolling out of bed."

"And?"

"My point is that you are generally pretty healthy."

"If you are trying to make me feel better, stop. I just want to wallow in self-pity, over here."

"Be angry. Be upset. Feel all of the things that you need to feel. Tomorrow when you wake up imagine that this is all just a dream, and see how you feel then. That will tell you everything you need to know."

"Sometimes I wish I wasn't so self-sufficient."

He nods, "I get that. Not everything that you can do alone is something that you would want to."

"I think we both know that if I move forward that is how things will go."

"I've got your six," he reminds her.

"Even if it is the size of a tractor trailer?"

He grins, "Especially then."

She rolls her eyes, and almost cracks a smile. She glances in the mirror, and manages to wipe the mascara from her cheeks.

"I'm a mess."

"Everyone has days like this, Mac."

"Thanks for dinner, Clay," she tells him, knowing that he has offered her something far more valuable than just dinner.

"Do you want me to follow you home?"

"No. I can get home."

"It would really put my mind at ease to make sure that you get home safely. I know that you are a Marine, Hell, you are practically invincible. I would really hate for you to be distracted by a myriad of understandable human emotions, and run-off the road, or something of that nature."

"You could just track my phone to see if I've made it home."

"Not a chance."


	5. Undeniable

The next several weeks pass very quickly, as Mac finds herself incredibly busy at work. One morning a reminder on her phone tells her that she is off for an appointment. She quickly, and methodically selects an outfit. She first attempts to tug on pants. Her numerous attempts to button her pants prove futile. As she stands in front of her bathroom mirror, and for the first time she allows herself outside of her deeply protective bubble of denial. She exhales, and turns to her side.

From the side it is very apparent despite, any attempts at concealment that there is someone inhabiting her womb. She reminds herself that there is a duo of renters. As her eyes drift from her mirror to her actual stomach her glance is occluded by other body parts. She sighs in frustration.

"I guess that I am going shopping after my appointment. Thank goodness I have the whole day off."

She arrives at her scheduled appointment with time to spare. She nervously rubs the back of her hand as she sits in the waiting room. Her name is called, and after some formalities she finds herself situated in an exam room. Once again she focuses on the ceiling tile overhead, as opposed to the nearby screen.

"We are doing an anatomy scan today," the technician tells her, "It will be a little bit lengthier than other scans, but it is no cause for alarm. I am going to view many different angles, and do a several measurements. We will start here with baby A."

"Okay."

"Did you want to find out gender today?"

For some reason the question catches Mac off-guard. As she exhales she shifts her glance to the screen. She furrows her brow, "What exactly am I looking at?"

"The baby is sucking its thumb," the technician explains.

"Oh."

"So do you want to know the gender?"

"I guess I hadn't given it much thought," she admits.

"I still have several body parts before I make it that far. If you are certain by then, I can put the information in an envelope."

Mac finds herself in awe as the technician moves from body part, to body part. She stares at the profile of her baby's face. For the first time part of her feels more excited than apprehensive.

"I find that I do pretty poorly with unknown variables. I would like to find out the gender," she admits.

"I want to tell you upfront that on occasion babies do not cooperate."

"I understand."

"Are you certain that you want to know?"

"Yes."

After a few more images the technician types on the screen, _It's A Girl!_ Mac squints at the screen.

"I'm not wearing my glasses. It looks like a G?"

"Yep. Baby A is a girl."

* * *

Hours later Mac is exiting a store with a handful of bags, when she sees Clayton approaching.

"Why do I get the distinct feeling that you are checking up on me?"

He slyly slips the bags from her grasp, and they move towards her car. He secures the bags in a gentlemanly way.

"I thought that you might like to have lunch. I was not in the area, but full disclosure, I was tracking your phone, so I knew where you were."

"You could have, like a normal human being, just called me. Text is a newer option, but also every bit as valid."

"Are you ready to eat?"

"I find that I am perpetually ready to eat these days."

"Great. Where do you want to go?"

As if on cue her stomach grumbles, "Whatever is closest."

Moments later she slides into a booth at a low-key restaurant. He finds himself staring as he sits across the table from her.  
"A direct line of questioning would be preferred. I am pretty irritable these days."

"How was your appointment?"

"It went well. Everything looked normal. There still appear to be two of them. Growth was normal. Strong heartbeats, and all body parts were accounted for."

"How are you feeling?"

"Still nervous, but I am starting to have a hint of excitement."

"I think that is probably natural."

"I wouldn't know."

"So did you find out what you're having?"

"They appear to be somewhat humanoid in shape," she quips.

"Male, or female persuasion?"

"Uh huh."

"I guess that I assumed that you would find out. Did you find out?"

"I think you know that surprises make me feel physically ill, at times."

"Especially this one," he teases.

"It would appear that there is one of each. A girl, and a boy."

"That is what I was rooting for."

She scowls at him, "Why would you be rooting for anything?"

"I just think you deserve to have all of the things that you want."

"Really? I didn't want to be sifting through preschool applications as a senior citizen, yet here we are."

"That is an exaggeration, and you know it."

"A slight embellishment."

"Sarah, do you think that you can do this on your own? You are already outnumbered."

"I don't think that I have much of a choice."

"Are you ever planning on telling him?"

"There is nothing to tell. He made it very clear that he did not want kids."

"I think that there are some part of that decision that you are not entirely aware of."

She furrows her brow, "What are you talking about?"

"He lied to you."

"You were not part of that conversation. You have no idea what was said."

"He told you that he wanted to focus on his career, and that he didn't think that kids were going to be in the cards. I don't think he was ever honest about why he told you that."

"How do you know this?"

"He talked to me about it. He felt responsible. He couldn't bear to watch you in agony every single day. He told you that so that you would let yourself off the hook. It's funny though, because he always felt responsible."

"It had nothing to do with him," she points out.

He points at her mid-section, "But this does."


	6. If You See Him, If You Her

He studies the number on the buzzing cellular device in the palm of his hand. He doesn't recognize the number, and he immediately wonders if it's her. He presses the phone to his ear.

"Rabb," he responds, trying to keep his cool.

"What are you doing?" The voice on the other end questions.

"I am in the middle of the ocean, Webb. Why do you ask?"

"With your life?" Clayton responds.

"Why are you calling me, out of the blue?"

"To tell you that you are being a complete, and total idiot," Clayton replies, emphatically.

"I don't feel that I need a lecture from you."

"I would like to shake you, but luckily I am not currently in your vicinity."

"What is this about?"

"I'm just so entirely fed up with the two of you."

"There is no two of us," Harmon reminds him.

His voice cracks, "And that is the problem. You both run anytime you get close enough to connect. It has to stop. Twenty years later, and the two of you are pulling the same damn stunts. One of you shows up, and doesn't say what is on their mind. The other one waits for something to be said. Nothing is said, and you both get nowhere. Man up, Rabb. Do you want to live the rest of your life as a pirate?"

"A pirate?"

"Your only mistress is the sea. That seems to be your long-term relationship. Do you really love it more than you love her?"

"What does any of this have to do with you?"

"I am here. I see her regularly enough to know that neither one of you is ever going to move on with anyone else. I am tired of seeing someone that I care about carry pain around every single day. Any time I see you, I see the same damn thing. You are broken because the piece that makes you whole is typically halfway around the world. At what point are you going to overcome your ego, and just be honest with her? What do you really have to lose? You can retire. Hang it up, and just be happy."

"What if she can't forgive me for my mistakes?"

"You will never know if you don't try."

"What am I really supposed to say to her? Huh?"

"I would start with the truth."

"I don't know how to be anyone else."

"Do me a favor, when you go out to the flight deck next time, shove the old Harmon Rabb off into the ocean. She is never going to tell you that she needs you. She doesn't want you to resent her. She doesn't want to carry the burden of knowing that she is the one that clipped your wings. Mac is never going to give up what she thinks that you love most."

"This isn't it," he says softly.

"You need to tell her that."

"Why are you intervening on her behalf?"

"I'm not. Don't tell her that I called. In fact when we disconnect there will be no proof that I did. I am doing this on behalf of those who can't speak for themselves. Call Mac, tell her the truth."

"On behalf of those who can't speak for themselves? What is that supposed to mean?"

The phone goes silent. Harmon carefully scrutinizes his phone. There is no trace of the call on his phone. As he sits in his rack he wonders why someone who is not in his fan club would try to smooth things out between he, and the love of his life.

* * *

It's Saturday afternoon, and she finds herself procrastinating to the nth degree. She kneels in the flower bed in front of her house weeding. The breeze has started to pick up, so the air has a slight chill to it. She wears a USMC hooded sweatshirt as she removes the weeds from the earth. Her hair is secured in a ponytail. She avoids going in the house to sift through the internet, and select baby items that Clayton has suggested she research before purchasing.

The entire process seems overwhelming, and exhausting. She tries to push the thought from her mind, as she takes her frustration out on the weeds in the dirt at the front of her home. For a moment her minds drifts to what her home will look like in coming years. For a brief second she thinks about a swing-set in the backyard. The one she had believed would never come to fruition. A jab to the side shifts her into the present. She hears tires rolling towards her drive.

Living at the end of a dead end street has conditioned her to expect people frequently turning around in her driveway. She doesn't think twice about the car, until it stops in her driveway, and the engine turns off. Mac turns towards the vehicle. From her position, kneeling on the ground she can't determine who is inside the black SUV with tinted windows. She places her hand on the holster tucked beneath her sweatshirt. As she rises from the ground the driver's side door opens. She furrows her brow as she watches a familiar figure step out.

"What are you doing here?"

"Nice to see you too, Mac," he responds as he removes his aviator shades.

"I didn't mean to offend you. I just expected that you would be in the middle of the ocean somewhere."

"I took some leave," he admits.

She nods, "Why are you here?"

She finds that he is uncomfortably close. Not that she is uncomfortable with him, but that he has encroached on her recently expanded bubble.

He exhales, "I am tired of having unfinished business."


	7. If You're Gone

"I'm unfinished business? Harm, I'm not some conquest that you can check off your list when you finally feel that you have conquered me."

He rolls his eyes, "Don't. I didn't mean it like that, and you know it."

She sighs in frustration, "No, I don't. How would I know what you mean? I can't even get you in a room long enough to have a meaningful conversation with you."

"That is why I am here."

"What are you talking about?" She growls as her face puckers.

"Stop trying to strike up an argument for one moment. Please."

"I'm not…" she trails off.

"Please just listen to what I have to say," he implores.

"I'm all ears," she insists.

"Mac, I'm tired of running. Every single day I feel like I am running from someone. Usually, it's myself. I am not going to beat around the bush. I am a complete idiot to not have applied more effort to making things work between us before. I am never going to stop loving you. For the record, I just want you."

"I might believe that if you weren't the human embodiment of Peter Pan."

"I totally deserve that."

"I have given up on thinking that you are ever going to change. Your words have ceased to mean anything to me."

He drops to one knee, "What about actions?" He reaches into his pocket.

"Get up!"

"Sarah, you are the only person on this planet that I want to be with. Please marry me."

"Get up! I am not going to marry you! This is not a damn fairytale, Harm! You can't just come back from your years at sea, and think that I am suddenly going to forgive you for everything. Do you honestly think that you can't swoop in with some shiny bauble, and I will swoon for you? A ring is just a trinket. It doesn't mean anything to me."

"I have never in all of the years that I have known you, known you to swoon for anyone. I had hoped it would be easy to make you believe that my intentions are pure. I can understand that you are angry, and you aren't ready to forgive my sheer stupidity. I guess that I will just have to stick around long enough to convince you."

"I wish that Clayton would mind his own business."

As Harm returns to a standing position he furrows his brow, "What are you talking about?"

"What did he say to you?"

"That the records would cease to exist."

"From me? I can call his secretary right now, and find out if he called you."

"You're bluffing," he pushes her.

"Would you like to find out?"

"He did call," he confirms.

"What did he say?"

"That I am an idiot, and that I should tell you the truth."

"And?!" The vein in her forehead pulsates.

"That was it. What did you think that he said? Is there something else you were worried he would say?"

"No," she answers him too quickly.

"So, yes?"

"What do you expect me to say, or do?"

"That you have enough faith left in humanity that you will give me another totally undeserved chance to make things right between us."

She is contemplating knocking him flat on his ass as a response when she finds herself being kicked yet again. She swallows hard, and does her best to maintain her composure. She shrugs.

"I doubt that you can succeed."

"I am relocating," he tells her.

"I think I've heard this song, and dance before."

"I'll be based in San Diego."

"For a week, until you hop a plane, or a train, or an aircraft carrier anywhere but here."

"I'm retiring from the Navy."

"We'll see," she scoffs.

"I bought a little bungalow on the next street over."

She grimaces, "That place is a dump."

"It will give me a project."

As he stands before her bearing her heart to him she wants desperately to protect hers. A voice inside her screams at her to tell him the truth. She pushes the idea from her head. The movement inside her womb reminds her that it is time that she puts her ego aside, no matter how much it pains her. She motions to the porch.

"Why don't you have a seat?" She suggests in a solemn tone.

He reluctantly takes a seat on her porch. She turns her chair toward him. His heart beats as rhythmic as a drum in his ears. Suddenly he fears that he is too late. Has his time finally run out? He can't contain his racing thoughts.

"Is there someone else? I'm too late?"

She smirks, "There is someone else, but not in the way that you're thinking."

"Mac, I am not here to interfere with any ongoing relationship that you have."

"I do have an ongoing relationship, but not with a man," she admits.

"Oh. Oh?!"

She shakes her head, "Or woman, or non-binary adult."

"I'm so confused."

"I can see that. Let me shed some light." She begins peeling off her sweatshirt.

"It's a little chilly out here, don't you think?"

She removes the sweatshirt, and places it on the back of her seat. She stands up so that he can get a clearer view. He tilts his head as he studies her. He furrows his brow as he grows increasingly confused. He finds himself at a loss for words.

"So, it turns out that our last farewell was potentially a little too fond."

He literally scratches his head, "That isn't possible."

"And, yet, here we are. You are confessing your love for me, and I am confessing that you managed to knock me up."

"But you… and I… and we…" he stammers, "You're setting me up, aren't you? This is an elaborate prank you have pulled to gain vengeance?"

She moves closer to him. Without a single word she takes his hand from its resting place on his leg, and presses it to her abdomen.


	8. From This Moment On

As his hand is pressed against her rounded abdomen he feels something flutter. He swallows hard, and finds himself wondering when he is going to wake up from this dream.

She begins again, more softly this time, "I know what you are going to say. I am ancient, certainly, too old to find myself in the family way. I have been deemed infertile, some have even said utterly barren. Even if it were the faintest of possibilities it would take all of the currently available reproductive technology, and likely hundreds of thousands of dollars. Even if it could happen to someone, it couldn't happen to me under these circumstances."

His heart skips a beat. He feels a little faint. She watches him as he takes a seat on the chair. She follows suit. They allow the silence to envelope them. As several moments pass the two of them stare at each other.

"You're really pregnant?" He finally vocalizes an intelligible question.

"Yes," she confirms.

"Just to clarify, I am the other responsible party for this development?"

"That is correct."

"You're pregnant with my baby?"

She falls silent. He watches her closely as she circles the back of her hand with her palm, and purses her lips.

"Is there something wrong?" He wonders.

"I have elected not to do any genetic testing," she answers him.

"This is me you're talking to. I can tell that there is some huge detail you have omitted thus far."

"If this pregnancy was not already complicated enough by my age, and my history of infertility, it has also been complicated by the fact that I am, apparently, carrying twins."

"Come again?" He tilts his head and cocks his eyebrow.

"I'm pregnant with twins. There are two of them. They have to confirm every time I go for an appointment, as I am still in a state of disbelief."

Suddenly he finds that he can't control his facial muscles. His lips curl into a smile. "This is incredible," he leaps out of his seat. In a split second she finds him hugging her tightly. As he lets loose of her he gets a read on her facial expression. He furrows his brow.

"This is the most incredible news I've ever heard. Why do you look so glum?"

"It's probably just my pessimistic nature," Mac admits candidly.

"Are you being pessimistic, or realistic? What are your concerns? Give me a sit rep."

"The reality is that every single day that passes with them in utero is a miracle. They simply do not expect me to go to term. The likelihood of fetal death, or significant complications are reasonably high."

"You were never planning on telling me, were you?"

"I didn't want to get your hopes up about something that may not have a favorable ending."

"It isn't a burden you should have to shoulder alone."

"After a while you get used to it," Mac responds too quickly.

"What about your job? I would anticipate that this will affect your livelihood."

"I am not permitted to do field work, but luckily with technological advances I can do the majority of my job from an office base."

"Your job is stressful," Harm comments.

"Due to the nature of my work a year-long maternity leave is offered."

"I see…"

"I officially started leave on Friday."

"Are you going to let me help you?"

"Do I have a choice?"

"A small one," Harm grins.

"I'm sorry that I didn't tell you about this sooner. I just couldn't quite wrap my head around it."

A lightbulb illuminates in his head. "I was here six months ago."

"That is correct."

"You seem uncharacteristically unprepared for this."

"I find that I am deeply rooted in fear, and denial."

"I understand. What if you have a nursery full of stuff, and no one is able to use it?"

She nods subtly, "I am hoping for the best, but what I am most prepared for is the worst."

* * *

Mac stands in the doorway, thirty four weeks pregnant. Her back aches as she waits for Harm to get his act together. He applies two samples of paint on the wall.

"Okay, what do you think?"

"That it is utterly ridiculous that you have an antiquated belief that I am incapable of doing this myself."

"Mac, just pick a color. I am not having this argument again."

"I do not not favor any of them."

"You are just being contrary. This is the fourth day in a row I have attempted to paint this room. You have given me no choice."

She furrows her brow, "What are you talking about?"

"I've called in reinforcements."

"Reinforcements? Harm I don't have the patience for this. I am going to go get the car keys and go to the hardware store, and get a reasonable paint color. I will just do it myself."

"Hello," a familiar voice calls.

"In here," Harm calls.

Harriet approaches the scene. Mac shakes her head, "What are you doing here?"

"Coming to offer my assistance," she admits.

"To talk him into his senses?"

"To take you away on a babymoon while Harm does the necessary work."

"I have absolutely zero desire to go anywhere," Mac argues.

"Her bag is in the hallway closet," Harm informs Harriet.


End file.
